


Seven Days

by ViewingTm



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Loss of custody, M/M, Multi, Rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-16 08:59:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViewingTm/pseuds/ViewingTm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was the first time in years that his shades were off in front of you. You saw the fear in his eyes more clearly. You don't like that. No matter how much you hate to not know what he's thinking, knowing what's on his mind is more scary and uncomfortable than you could have ever imagined. (ON A CURRENT HIATUS)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bro was never a guy to lose his cool. You've known that ever since you could walk. No matter how many temper tantrums you would throw, or how much you'd draw all over his turntables, he would never yell or lose his head.

You're thirteen now and you've never seen your Bro this scared.

 He'd just gotten off the phone with some lady he called Caroline. She said something that seemed to make him... angry? Sad? You don't know. All you know is that his shades are off and you can see his eyes. This was the first time in years that his shades were off in front of you. You saw the fear in his eyes more clearly. You don't like that. No matter how much you hate to not know what he's thinking, knowing what's on his mind is more scary and uncomfortable than you could have ever imagined.

"Bro?" No answer. He just keeps pacing and murmuring to himself.

"Bro what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Go to your room Dave." His voice sounded shaky. Watery even.

Was he- was he crying?

 "Bro what's the mat-"

"I SAID GO TO YOUR _FUCKING_ ROOM DAVE."

You didn't even think to say anything else. You flashstepped to your room without so much as a glance in his direction. You sat down around your desktop computer and logged on to pesterchum. Rose was the only one online.

TT: Good afternoon, Dave.   
TG: not really rose im kinda freaked out here   
TG: bros acting all weird and scared like    
TG: its creepy as fuck   
TT: Well, do you have any idea as to why your brother is behaving like this?   
TG: yeah maybe a lil bit   
TG: he got off the phone a couple minutes ago and now i think hes crying   
TT: Dave, go see your brother right now.   
TG: what   
TG: why the fuck should i   
TT: Because I think he's lost custody of you.   
TG: wait what how the fuck   
TG: how the hell would you even know about that   
TG: wait i fucking told you didnt i   
TG: but i thought that was dealt with years ago   
TG: how is this happening   
TG: seriously rose how in the fuck is this happening   
TG: was there just some seriously sick fuck fucking things up for me and my bro   
TG: am i going to have to go to a home now rose   
TG: im going to get buttraped in the home arent i rose   
TG: its like jail but for kids   
TG: and its not juvi neither   
TG: its full on halfway house buttsex room   
TG: this sucks ass rose what the fuck do i do   
TT: Dave, just do what I said.   
TT: I understand you are panicking right now, but you need to talk to your brother and figure this situation out with him.   
TT: I cannot help you. 

 

You stand up from your computer and flashstep to Bro's room. You walk about a foot in to see him curled up in the fetal position, sobbing on his futon. You sit down beside him and curl your arms around his midsection. He sniffles loudly.

"Dave, I thou-thought I t-told you to go t-to your r-room."

This is fucking torture. It was bad enough to know he's crying, and that you might get buttraped in an adoption center, but your Bro stuttering is a new level of pure evil.

"I don't want to leave." You start tearing up.

"Bro please don't let them take me."

"I'm not in c-control of that l-lil' man."

"Can I do something then? Tell them that I want to stay? Anything?! Do my wants even fucking count here?! Am I supposed to just sit back and be torn from the only life I've known because of some dumbass social worker saying that you're an unfit parent?! What the fuck do they even know?! You take care of me a hell of a lot better than anyone else could!" Now you're the one crying.

 "Shh, calm down, kid. There should be a trial of some sort in a week were you can give your opinion, but during the time period between now and then-" he stops to clear his throat. "They're gonna take you."

"No. No, no, no, no, no, no! I want to stay at home with you! I can't fucking leave! I don't want to leave! DON'T MAKE ME LEAVE!" You snort and snot all over his shirt. You sound like a two year old. (Albeit one with very strong language, but still a small child.) This doesn't bother you. You can't leave your home. You can't leave Bro.

The seven days you are forced to spend without him, are going to be the worst days of your entire life.

 

* * *

 

 

You wake up at about 5 am on a Saturday morning, completely flummoxed. Why are you not in bed, and why are you so warm? Oh. You fell asleep in Bro's room. You roll over on your side and look up at him.

"So you're finally up, huh?" 

You sigh.

"I'm guessing today's the day I have to 'move out'?"

"Essentially yes. I know you want to stay at home with me, but leaving is probably for the best. I'm probably a really shitty guardian anyway."

Your jaw seems to unhinge with disbelief. He needs the fucking what for.

"Bro, shut the fuck up. Don't even start with all of that 'I'm an unfit parent' bullshit. I'm not having it. I know what everyone else deems fit for a family isn't exactly what we have. I understand that. But it fucking fits. I like being here and getting my ass kicked for being a little smart ass and getting the shit kicked out of me during strifes and having almost no food in the house, all of it being replaced with pure, unadulterated irony. Bro, even though it isn't practical, I fucking revel in being able to say I live here with the best substitute for a father I could ever have. I don't want to leave because I can't leave. If I do it'll be like I started a conversation with you and never fucking finished. Like I set John or someone up for the best rap ever and went offline for months. I can't leave because If I do...I'll-I'll never be able to tell you what you need to hear."

You stop yourself before you fuck your little speech up.  Don't tell him. You can't tell him.

"Kid, alright. But pack some shit. The lady is comin' to pick you up at 9 am sharp."

You don't know why, but you cringe when he calls you kid. You know exactly who you are, and you are just that, a child. A small soul lost in a sea of wonder, waiting for someone or something with any sense of direction to take you someplace and make you whole. Even though you are still small and still a child, that title doesn't fit you. It doesn't fit how you think. It doesn't fit how you speak, or act, or feel. You can't even begin to think about how much more simple your life would be if you thought like John or Jade.

But you don't think like them.

Your life therefore isn't simple.

You've known that ever since you were 6 years old.

 

* * *

 You've never been to any sort of physical school building before. You've come in contact with only one person in your entire life. It was Bro. It was always, always, Bro.

When you were about 6 years old, Bro sat you down and had a talk with you about your eyes. About how the color would scare people. He told you that you would never go to any school building, because he wouldn't let them force you out of your shades to see your eyes and call you a freak.

That was the third time he'd taken off his shades in front of you. 

They were gorgeous.

An extremely light brown with flecks of bright orange and crimson leading up into the pure black of his pupils.

He pointed to a small scratch on his nose.

"Ya see kid, here's where i broke my nose at about your age running away from some kids trying to burn me alive or somethin'." 

That was a day where you became scared near to death of other children, and what they could do. That tiny 10 minute talk with Bro made you more aware of what people are capable of at 6 years old than any news reporter could hope to inform you as an over-worried, jittery, impressionable adult.

And all he told you was that a few kids thought he was a demon-spawn. All because of his eyes.

You, as a 13 year old already know that it won't just be a few days before this bad dream is over. People lie. You should be happy to see your Bro by your birthday in December.

It's mid June.

You pack a duffle bag with all of the essentials. A tooth-brush, toothpaste, body wash, shampoo, conditioner, (We in the Strider household take our hair very seriously. For ironic purposes of course.) clothes, 20 bottles of apple juice, more clothes, extra underwear, and... you need something. Something of Bro's. You yell for Bro to give you something for the road and he just tells you to take Lil' Cal.

You would be surprised that he offered his precious doll to you and ask him if he was sure, but you already knew he was. Even though he probably wouldn't full on admit it, you knew he'd miss you. He knows that you'd miss him. There are just certain things you don't have to talk about to get.

You hold the puppet close to your chest, put on a hoodie, and wait patiently for the social worker to arrive.

 

* * *

 

It's about 8:15 and you've been waiting patiently for almost an hour. You need something to entertain yourself. Bro was pacing and it seriously did not help any of the nervousness you had.

"Bro can you sit or something? You pacing is freaking me the fuck out."

"Kid, hush. I'm thinking."

"Yeah that's obvious. What about?"

"You need something."

What the fuck does that mean? You quirk an eyebrow up at him.

"You need something...something's missing on the list of shit you can take and I don't know..." His words trail off.

"You don't know what?" He dashes past you with only a wizz of air left in his wake as he moves in the direction of his bedroom. He walks back out slowly with his phone.

"Here." He shoves the device towards you.

You are completely taken aback.

Bro really hates when you touch his shit. You don't touch his puppets. You don't go for his food. Most importantly, you don't ever, under any circumstances, touch his electronics. This is _big._

You grab his phone from his hands and put it in your pocket. Before the transaction was finished, your fingers managed to brush up against one of his hands. In a split second, you felt how large and slender his hands are, dwarfing yours in comparison. The leather of his gloves is soft and worn down from years of wear, tear, and use. His fingers are heavily calloused, yet still thin and woman-like. With all of the meticulous sewing, stitching, and crafting he does, you aren't suprised that his fingers look like those of a concert pianist. The way they move around when he's nervous or excited is just mesmerizing.

You blush gently and look towards the floor even though you know he can't see your eyes.

They doorbell rings at 9 am on the dot. Well, at least this lady's punctual.

Bro opens the door looking more harried and afraid than ever. You try your best to keep your straight face and cool kid persona. For once, it actually doesn't falter.

"Hello Dave. My name is Caroline. I will be the one taking care of you for a few days before the trial." She sticks her hand out towards you for a shake. Is this lady serious? You don't actually want to touch her, but you shake her hand anyway to prevent Bro from having any more things on his rap sheet to make him look like a bad parent. It was bad enough that they wanted to take you away because of his age and finacial instability, but you not having any manners would make matters worse.

Caroline gestures for you to leave with her, or at least leave the apartment. Before your foot steps out of the doorway, Bro pulls you into a tight hug. You can see a tear stream down his face. He's not wearing his shades. He hasn't been ever since last night. You pull down your shades a bit and look up into the crimson-orange crush colored eyes one last time.

"I'll miss you Dave." He hasn't called you Dave in a while. Not since you were about 7 and still needed a good talking to to get your little fresh tail in order.

"Ditto." He lets go of you and you walk towards the social worker la- you mean Caroline.

You leave the apartment and gently close the door. You hear a loud "Dammit!" from inside the front room and what seems to be loud sobbing. You can't stand to be near that. A tear stains your face as you jog down the stairs.

 


	2. Chapter 2

When you're far enough away from her, you wipe your face clean of any tear residue and make your way down the stairs faster. You make it to the bottom and wait for her slow ass to get there. Her heels clack down the stairs daintily and softly as you tap your foot in a childish act of annoyance. She walks past you with an obvious expectation of you following her. She leads you to a large Ford brand car in the parking garage behind your building. Caroline reaches for your bag and you recoil visibly.

"I am just trying to put your bag into the trunk." Oh hell no.

"I think I can throw a bag into the back on my own. Besides, I'd be a lot more comfortable if I was holding it." You don't mean to be a little bitch, alright you do, but either way you just really don't like this lady.

"Alright. Hop in the front with me." Damn. She's so fucking agreeable and that should make her shitty personality better. You just end up disliking her even more.

You walk towards the passenger's side and open the door. You slide into the car and nearly vomit at the smell in there. This is nothing like home.

At your apartment, it smells like soda and juice and small sprays of very lightly scented febreze. In here it fucking reeks of heavy perfumes that are supposed to smell like flowers and...is that supposed to be... fucking vanilla? You have no clue what shitty smell this is. All you know is that is smells disgusting and makes you really want to go take a shower. She probably fucking smokes to have to cover it up this bad. I mean, you love being clean and all, but showers are fucking drags.

You stop obssessing over Caroline's apparant drug addiction and reach into your pocket and pull out Bro's phone. You unlock it and look through his apps.Fuck yeah. He has Pesterchum. You log in as yourself and look through your chums. No one is online except for one unknown person who is new to the list of people you talk to.

 

TG: okay so who the fuck are you   
TT: Hello Dave. I wanted to make sure I could talk to you when you weren't with me. I made what you call a...chum-handle?   
TG: so its you bro   
TT: Yes, Dave. That is exactly what I said.   
TG: wow am i fucking glad to hear from you   
TG: it already sucks and im not out of this bitchs car   
TG: it smells like shit and perfume out the ass   
TT: Well, you've been gone about 30 minutes.

Has it really been this long? You haven't really been paying any attention.

TT: I'd say you're almost house free.   
TT: Not home free though.   
TG: yeah   
TG: im not actually at my fucking house   
TG: warm safe and comfortable   
TG: the place thats better for me   
TG: im nowhere near where i actually want to be   
TT: Don't worry, you'll get over it.   
TG: wait shit were here talk to you later bro   
TG: love you

Wait shit. You did not mean to type that or even send it. You shove Bro's phone back into your pocket. You feel it vibrate to indicate some sort of alert. You guess it's Bro messaging you back; you don't answer. You hop out of the car and follow Caroline into a large very rich looking building. She opens the door and you step inside to a bright house covered in golds and diamonds. You look around to see pictures with expensive looking carved wood framing. You see all sorts of different shaped vases filled with flowes all over the living areas. You look past her into the kitchen and you see complex designs on what looks to be the "good" china plates you always see on television.

She leads you to a large bedroom with a flatscreen T.V. and a laptop on a table in the corner of the room.

"I hope you can enjoy your stay in my home, Dave. I figured a large bedroom would pique your intrest. I guessed that this bedroom would be your favorite of this house."

There's more? Fuck this lady has cash. She is sure as hell buying you things you can take back to Bro when all of this is finished.

"Yeah. Thanks."

She nods gently and closes the bedroom door. You stare down in awe at the large bed and refrigerator that you assume is filled with a bunch of goodies that you are going to eat the shit out of later. You feel your pocket vibrate again and remember you were talking to Bro.

 

TT: Dave I really hope you're safe.   
TT: Please check up with me constantly.   
TT: I have to know that you're okay.   
TT: And I love you too.   
TT: Good night.

 You pocket the phone and smile lightly to yourself.

You guess you can kind of appreciate that.

Or flop down onto your bed and chirp a bit.

It could go either way.

 

* * *

 

You hop up out of your hyper state and sit up on the bed and grab your bag to unpack. You take out all the essentials and place them in different piles surrounding your legs. Once everything is in its own respective place, you start stuffing things into drawers. You look up and to the left of where you are currently standing and see a bathroom in the corner of the mini apartment and smirk. You are definitely going to wash up in that.

You lay out a fresh pair of boxers and the large t-shirt Bro lent you back when you were about 10 and refused to wear anything you had because you believed it to be, and I quote, "infested with ghosts". You were one weird ass 10 year old. You lock the bedroom door and walk into the bathroom ready to take a shower. There are already towels, soap, lotions, and all sorts of colognes in here. Damn. This lady came prepared.

You close the bathroom door and lock it for good measure. You strip down to your bare bottom and climb into the shower stall. You turn the showerhead down in your direction and turn the faucet on until the water is about lukewarm. You hate hot showers. You've always hated hot showers. You don't like the idea of getting so caught up in being comfortable that you lose sight of your surroundings. You don't care how nice it is here. You will  _not_  let your guard down. You reach for the large bottle of bodywash and squirt a small amount into your palm.

Even if you have your own, you want to milk this for everything it's worth. It's best to use all this shit to your advantage. You don't want to run out of anything of your own and be worried enough to ask for stuff. It's too much of a hassle. You use your hands to gently rub the soap into your skin. Once the sticky liquid turns into bubbles, you rinse off, turn off the tap, and step out of the shower. You grab a medium sized towel off of the rack and dry yourself off. You use it to ruffle-dry your hair and wrap the towel around your waist.

You unlock the bathroom door and step out into your large bedroom. Boy that is different to say. Your  _large_ bedroom. You put on your pair of boxers and the over-sized t-shirt. A gentle knock on the door startles you.

"David?"

Wow, do you hate when people call you that or what? That is not your fucking name. Another knock.

"Dave?"

Now the bitch got it right. You flashstep to the door, unlock it, and open it a small crack in one swift, fluid motion.

"'Sup?"

"Oh! I just wanted to tell you dinner is ready. I wasn't awared you were readying for bed..." She starts blushing and looks at her feet. You raise an eyebrow in curiosity to ask what she's getting all shy over. Oh. You  _are_ just wearing boxers and a t-shirt.

"Yeah. I'll be right out."

You close the door and walk over to your dresser drawers. You open a drawer and take out a loose pair of track pants. You walk out of your bedroom and into the dining area where you find Caroline sitting at the far end of the table waiting for you. You sit at the direct opposite end of the table and wait for her to say something.

"David, I'm glad you joined me. Help yourself."

You completely disregard her slip up with your name and dig into everything on the table. There are pillsbury rolls, corn, chicken, beef, mashed potatoes, rice, pumkin pie, sweet potato pie (the only way you could differenciate was by trying them both...twice) and fucking cherry-orange sherbert ice cream. You sampled all of that food. All of it. After you were done eating almost half of the food on the table, you lean back in your chair and slowly rub your stomach.

You haven't eaten like that since your 12th birthday.

"Full, huh?"

You nod and grin.

"Yup. Thanks for the dinner, Caroline."

You stand up slowly and waddle back to your room. You walk in and shut the door.

You grab all of your body-care materials and walk into the bathroom. You place everything from your tooth-brush to your conditioner on the sink counter. You pick up your body wash and squirt a small bit into your palm. You turn on the tap and wet your hands with water. You rub soap all over your face until you're sure you have a good lather going on, and rise off. You pick up your tooth-brush and wet it. You squirt a small amount of tooth-paste on the bristles and begin brushing your teeth. You look up from the sink and find that you are eye to eye with yourself in the mirror.

You look really angry. Your eyes have begun to droop from worry and lack of sleep. Your eyebrows are knit together to make you look increasingly upset. You loosen up your face and smirk a little. You look less scary. You hadn't even noticed that all of your emotions about the situation were showing up on your face. You guess you shouldn't have taken off your shades for dinner. You were probably scaring the shit out of the social worker.

You continue brushing your teeth and spit out all of the tooth-paste suds. You put down the tooth-brush, turn off the light in the bathroom, and walk out into the main part of the bedroom. You turn off the bright light in your room and click on the lamp by the bed. A ping sounds from Bro's phone.

Is it Bro or Rose? Naw, can't be Bro. He already said his goodnights. It's probably one of your friends checking on you. You bet Rose already told them the good news. You click the button on the bottom of the phone to check on the alert. 

This is definitely not one of your friends.

 

_**Hello, David. I have been watching you for a while and can't help to admire your beautiful face. You do look increasingly upset, though. I would love to know what might be going on in your cute, little head.**_

_**Attractive little boys like yourself shouldn't have to be angry. Are you having a conflict with your older brother? What with your situation and all, it would be a bit expected. What a shame. I bet you wish he would have fought a bit harder for you, huh? Just wish he'd have loved you just that much more. If you were mine, I would treat you with the utmost respect. I would take care of you and you would never leave me. Do you think you could ever talk to me David? That you might respect me and let me take you under my wing? That you could ever trust me enough to take you deep into pleasure and hold you there until we were both satisfied? Do you think that you could love me if we ever met? I would sure hope so. I would treat you like a little prince, David.** _

_**I wish you a great night and pleasant dreams. I know I'll be increasingly pleased by the end of this night.** _

_**You can always speak to me. Never hesitate.** _

_**Love, RE Classified**_

__

_**  
**_What the fuck was just sent to you? Should you be fucking worried about this? What the fuck is that text. What. The. Fuck. You swallow back the bile creeping up your esophagus and calm yourself down. There wasn't anything too damn racey in that message so you should be calm, right? No. That's not the case. You crave some sort of solace and comfort with Bro's sarcastic quip immediately.  You open up the Pesterchum app and send him a message. You put the phone down on the bedside table, roll over, and fall asleep.

 

TG: Bro, I'm so serious that I will actually use perfect grammar and spelling to tell you this.   
TG: I honestly do not feel safe here.   
TG: I think I'm being stalked.   
TG: Please get me the fuck out of this place.

 

* * *

 Dave's been gone for only 8 hours, 45 minutes, and 18.2 seconds. You are already freaking out.

You have tried to keep calm by reading a few of his dumb comics. That doesn't help at all. It only makes you feel worse for being such a shit parent. You let Dave be taken away by these people. Only God knows what is happening to him right now. He messaged you earlier and complained about Caroline's car. It made you smile. At least in a situation like this he can still find ways to make you laugh.  
The kid probably hates you by now. What could you have possibly done to deserve this? Man fuck. You wouldn't even be upset if it only affected you with him being gone.  
But it fucking doesn't. Dave is a fucking real person with his own real person fucking feelings. He's growing up into a little man of his own and he's only 13.

Wait.  
What is that fucking sound?

Oh.  
It's you.

You are practically shaking with rage.

What the fuck did you do? You were always told you were a fuck-up by someone. It used to be completely fine because you know why they thought of you that way. Now you can't even fucking figure out what you did. It's just not fucking fair. Whatever you must've done cannot be bad to the point of Dave being taken away from you.

Now you're hyperventilating. It's okay Bro. Calm down. Baby bro should be fine. He can handle himself. It's alright.

No it's not. It's fucking not. It's horrible and Dave is going to be raped and killed and it's all your fault because you didn't fight harder and fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.

You need to do something to distract yourself from this. Smuppets. Yeah those things. Make more. Make lots more. Use this to grab your fucking attention before you implode.

You sit down with some fabric and a needle and thread.  
Wow this smuppet thing is a great fucking idea and okay nope nevermind this idea sucks your finger is pricked and bleeding and this makes sewing smuppets fucking horrible.

You go to the apartment's only bathroom and grab a band-aid out of the first aid kit in the cabitnet. Blood is gushing pretty quickly out of your wound and it makes you feel no less stressed. You wrap your bleeding finger with a water-proof Rainbow-Dash band-aid and apply pressure to stop the bleeding faster.

It is now 6 o'clock.

You can't stop thinking about Dave and his slightly chubby cheeks and his brightly colored eyes. About his slightly awkwardly long limbs and his tiny, pug-like nose. About how he has slightly chubby thighs and hands that are long and slim for his age.  
About his very sharp canine teeth and front bottom teeth that always look a bit crooked when he smirks. About how everything that could ever be considered bad about his is only slightly there. About how he is only 13 and acts almost twice his age on most days.

He could be considered attractive to you.

But that is not an okay thought. You are his older brother. You are practically his father. That thought is in no way innocent or good to think. Do not think that.

A very loud and obnoxious "YOU'VE GOT MAIL!" sounds from your computer.

You look at the screen.

It's Dave.  
Fuck yes.  
You smirk and open up his chat.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--   
TG: Bro, I'm so serious that I will actually use perfect grammar and spelling to tell you this.   
TG: I honestly do not feel safe here.   
TG: I think I'm being stalked.   
TG: Please get me the fuck out of this place.

You read the message and your smirk goes away almost instantaneously. You nearly vomit all over your desk.  
You do though, vomit into the toilet until you are left dry-heaving and shivering against the gaudily colored toilet seat.

You walk out of the bathroom and start breathing heavily and pacing. What if the little shit is just playing you? What if he's joking? What if he just wants to get the fuck out of dodge and pretend that the place he's in never existed?

Then again, what if he isn't?

  
What if your little brother is actually in danger? What if you just handed him off to a complete rapist/murderer that'll do horrible things to him? You can't just fucking take him back. This shit was fucking court issued.

You are going to kill yourself. You are going to kill everyone. You are going to fucking murder someone if Dave is hurt. You would kill yourself first if you didn't have to make sure he was okay.

Jeez, what have you done?!

It honestly pains you to think that you've done something so terrible in raising Dave that you can't even live with him anymore!  
It isn't like you aren't trying! Dammit, you want him to live with you. You aren't being an asshole parent on purpose. People in the same apartment building as you fucking suck with their kids! At least yours has some sense in morals!

The thick, heavy breaths turn into deep, chest-wracking sobs.

You fall on your knees and for the first time in a long while, just cry.

You cry about Dave. You cry about yourself. You cry about your situation. You cry about your job. You cry about where you live. You fucking cry about everything.

You lay down on the carpeted floor and hold yourself until you can stop shaking and sniffling.

Your breaths are still stuttering and you feel like absolute shit, but you get up and reach for the second cell phone you have.  
You make a mental note to give Dave the number to this phone.

He needs to talk to you.  
You need him to talk to you.

You dial up Caroline and wait for her to pick up.

"Hello?" she says.

"So hey, my little bro messages me that he might be getting stalked. This is fucking brand new ass news to me and I want, no, I NEED to know what the fuck is going on. If you think I can't take care of Dave, you are dead wrong. Nothing like this has ever happened to him when he was with me. About 9 hours in and he's already in danger. Some caretaker you are." You can already hear the anger creeping up into your words.

"Calm down, Mr. Strider. Now what is-"

"Naw, naw, fuck that. First, the name's Bro, and second, you need to get some damn knowledge on what's goin' on with that stalkin' situation before I drive over there and get it my damn self. You live in the same goddamned house with the kid right the fuck now and you don't know shit 'bout what's goin' on with him! I'm probably a hundred miles away and I already know all about it!" You are downright pissed with this bitch and can't stand anything she says. You understand that you have to work with her to fix Dave, but come on, this conversation shouldn't even exist.

"Listen, I am not in Dave's room and I do not know what is going on. Unless I was literally up his ass every second he was here, I wouldn't know anything! I am not going to follow this boy around! He has been here for not even 10 hours and I am not hell-bent on having him hate me before he can even figure out who I am! I am doing my best job here so give me a fucking break!" Is she going for the pity vote here? Is she honestly trying to argue with you? She doesn't know who the fuck she's talking to.

You scoff under your breath.

  
No, Caroline.  
You are NOT the one trying your hardest here. Dave was taken away from you because you were trying your hardest and it wasn't enough, and this bitch is going to act like you weren't trying to keep him at all! Your hardest was not enough to keep Dave. You are here, on the phone with the social worker that was sent to protect him. She has done NOTHING good for him so far. She is a fucking detriment to his well being. If it seems like you are not trying your hardest to keep your calm, just so you can get Dave back, you might as well be doing the equivalent of leaving him there.

"This is my baby brother we are discussin' right now. You cannot expect me ta just be fuckin' calm as shit and peachy as hell when he could be in danger as we speak. Now you need ta go get his skinny lil' ass out of his fuckin' bedroom and have him speak ta me right now. And before you say some bullshit like, 'That won't help' or 'You can't do that because it's against code' or some otha nonsensical crap, you have to realize I am trying my very hardest ta help him and that I can definitely track this asshole down."

You are so fucking upset right now.  
Your accent is probably confusing the shit out of her, but you don't care.  
Shit needs to get fixed.  
You can hear her breathing deeply and hesitating over the phone.

"NOW, Caroline!"

You hear her whimper and walk somewhere.  
You hear the soft creak of a door-hinge and a very quiet, "Dave?" from her end of the line.

You tap your foot and listen for an indication of life from your kid brother.  
Caroline tells him he has a call and pretty loudly gets the fuck out of the room.

As soon as you hear a groggy "'Sup?" from him, you are positive he's okay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the stalker gets his own half of a chapter and Dave and Bro have a falling out.

You shouldn't have messaged him. He is such a sweet looking little boy. You have no intention of harming him. You do not wish to make him panic. That is not what you want.

He shouldn't know you exist. The things you could say to him. The way you speak could send shivers down his spine. He would arch his back and writhe under your touch. He would love every second of it.

You would make him love every second of it.

Why isn't it easier to have this boy closer to you? To be in your arms. In your house. In your bed.

He is just so beautiful.

You lie back on your bed sheets, sweating profusely. You try terribly hard not to touch yourself.

You bet he would tease you and make you wait for what you wanted. You bet he would drag out his motions and lag everything he did just so you could stay together for a bit longer.

You think about the slight sway in his hips as he'd walk. The curve of his waist. The cotton-like softness that is his hair.

How his lips part softly when he groans and ruts up against his own hand. His look of pure relief and pleasure when he finds his own sweet release. You can't hold it any longer.

You pull off your silk pajama pants and stuff your hand into your tightening boxer-briefs. You moan softly and stroke yourself to the image of his soft, young face. You whisper his name and rub the slit at the head of your throbbing member, shuddering at the stimulation. Small drops of pre-cum fall out from your fingers and begin to slide down to rest between your balls. You drag another hand under your covers to pull down your underwear and rub at the skin underneath your testicles. Your breathing begins to quicken and your moans begin to get louder. You slide your hand down to the base of your dick and squeeze.

You won't let yourself come yet.

You lift a hand to your mouth and stick a finger inside. You suck and lap at the digit as if it had been Dave himself making you suck it. Once your finger is fully lubricated with your spit, you read down and shove it into your tight, wanting hole. You let loose a long, dragged out moan as your finger reaches deeper inside of you and brushes against your prostate.

You can't wait anymore.

You begin quickly stroking your penis, bringing yourself closer to relief. You think about Dave. About how he would tell you that you were so great for making him feel so nice. About how he loved you and would love to make you come.

You climax and spill your seed all over your hand with a loud yelp, milking yourself to over-stimulation and pain.  
You take your finger out of yourself and waddle to your bathroom. You turn on the mirror light and look up at yourself.

What a sick man.

You still don't understand how you can go to work everyday and uphold a business when you go home to please yourself to the thought of little boys calling you a good person. You might as well call yourself a pedophile. You wash away the residue of your pleasure and leave the bathroom, flicking off the light.

You tip toe up to your bed and lay down.  
You pull your boxer-briefs up over your flaccid member and turn over to go to sleep.

Hopefully you'll get arrested for being such a perverted adult.

Hopefully you'll get to see Dave before you do.

 

* * *

 You wake up to the very loud creaking of a door. Caroline tells you someone called. You grab the phone from her and whisper a groggy, "'Sup?"

It turns out Bro's on the other line, sounding like he might be sick and tired as hell.

"Kid?" he asks.

"Yeah, it's me," you respond.

"I'm so glad you're okay. What'd that lady do to you? Wha th'fuck is goin' on with you bein' stalked? Do you have any clue what's happenin' here or do I need to call th'fuckin' cops on her civilized ass?"

The Southern twang is out in full force.  
You know he's serious.  
No time to fuck around, Strider.

"I'm fine, she did nothing but feed me some good ass fuckin' food. I don't know who's followin' me or why, just know it's happenin'. And no, you do not need to try to incarcerate Caroline, I might know what's goin' on." He seems to sigh over the phone and you can't help but smirk.

At least you know he gives a shit about you.

"Alright. Well do ya need me? Do you want me ta come see ya or somethin'?"

"Bro, chill. It's fuckin' fine. It's not like this guy or girl can actually get anywhere near me to do somethin' bad."

"Kid, ya don't fuckin' get it. That's exactly what people like this are trained ta fuckin' do. If this person wanted, they could get ta you and rape you before you could tell somethin' was wrong. Don't act like this couldn't cause some sort of problem for you. You already know it can."

"Bro, all I'm sayin' is that it ain't that big a deal. It could just be a friend of your's fuckin' with your old phone. Nothing important. I'm okay, you're okay. Fuckin' calm down."

"Dave, I am warnin' you. Watch your fuckin' ass."

"Dude, chill. Nothing's gonna happen."

"Dave, if you fuckin' get the shit fucked out of you I am so gonna say I told your dumbass self so. I ain't askin for you to watch yourself, I am fuckin' TELLIN' you to. Don't just be the lil' prick I havta put up with 'cuz he's my own flesh and blood. I paid for your life and I am trying my very HARDEST to protect it! Be the dickhead! See if I fuckin' care!" You open your mouth to say something as the line goes dead. You figure he hung up on you. You don't really care. He's overreacting. There is no way anything can happen to you.

You'll be fine.  
At least you hope you will.

You really, _really_ hope you will.

* * *

 

You cannot believe this.

You cannot FUCKING believe this.

He's acting as if there is no possibility that something will happen to him.  
That ignorant fuck of a brother you have is setting himself up for his own fucking demise.

It's not even like you can do anything about it either.  
It's not just the fact that he won't let you.  
It's the fact that you're too fucking stupid to figure out what to do that doesn't get you in some sort of trouble with the people working on your fucked up case.

You can't even bring yourself to feel any sort of way about what's happening here other than angry. You want to be numb. You go into the confines of your bedroom and push aside a basket to get to your mini fridge stocked with booze. You take out a bottle of Jack Daniels and start chugging. You fucking hate alcohol. You hate the taste. You hate the smell. Yet somehow you still find yourself coming back to it every now and then when you have a problem you can't find yourself wanting to fix. You pull the bottle away from your mouth and smack your lips.

You feel better already.

You take sip after sip of the bitter, burning liquid until you feel fully intoxicated. Without having your lil' bro around and without having to go out to work for the night, you decide you should get some homework done.

You toss the bottle back into the fridge and waddle over to your bed, completely shit-faced. You reach under your mattress and pull out a huge black box. You take off the lid and take out everything inside.

Some lube, a medium sized vibrator, and a butt plug. You _are_ about to get some work done tonight. It's just going to be on yourself. You're gonna go the 'quick fuck' route to make yourself feel better. You climb up onto your bed and proceed to take off your pants and underwear. You stroke yourself to life and uncap the lube. You quickly realize this self-study session was never going to take place. You find yourself so extremely close to climax with just a few tugs that you can't even be bothered to want anything up your ass. You drop the bottle of lubrication and begin rubbing yourself so vigorously that you might bruise. You come with a grunt, thick spurts of white coating your hand.

Within seconds you identify yourself under the "inebriated as fuck" column and find that you can't be bothered to move or clean up properly. You wipe your cum-drenched hand on your bedsheets, let go of your dick and fall asleep.

  
You'll deal with your conflict in the morning.

 

* * *

 

  
You wake up from you slumber feeling more tired than you should. Flashes of what you'd done the night before cloud your vision. My goodness, why are you still allowing yourself to rest? You jump out of bed and force yourself to get ready for the day at a pace that leaves you with a terrible pounding in your head and the feeling of nausea in the pit of your stomach.

You stumble out of your bedroom with a clean-shaved face and an untied tie. You walk into your kitchen and set the coffee to make itself. You would hand brew it like you usually do, but you realy don't want your blurred vision to make you spill coffee all over your suit. You reach down your chest and pull up your tie. It takes about 30 seconds of staring at the thing before you can actually move to tie it.

You hear what sounds like someone falling down the stairs and look over your shoulder.

"Ow! Dad, I fell again!"

You rush towards the voice and find your son at the bottom of the staircase holding his right leg and arm.

"Johnathan, you are going to have to learn to pace yourself. One of these days you might end up hurt. Be more careful, okay?"

"Yeah, okay Dad. Now can you help me up?"

"Alright."

You reach down and take his small hand in yours and pull him towards you. He mutters a small "Thanks, Dad" and walks off to the kitchen. You notice that he's still in his pajamas. It might be only 7:15 in the morning, but this child should be readying for school.

"John, shouldn't you be dressed for your classes?"

"Dad, it's my summer vacation and Saturday! I shouldn't be getting dressed for anything and neither should you! You have a break from work, remember? You said you wanted to spend more time with me during the summer. And also that you had too many vacation days from work stocked up. They put you on paid leave."

Oh, right. You were on break, weren't you? You honestly couldn't remember with how stressed you were from your little adventure last night.

"Just go put on sweats or something! It's not even like you leave the house anyway."

"Johnathan, as a respectable man of society, I need to be dressed, not just when I leave my home, but when I am awake in it as well. Just like I need to be dressed, you need to be dressed all the same."

"Do I have to get up and put on a suit every morning?"

You chuckle.

"No son, you do not. You just need to wear something other than sleepwear all day long."

"Can I change after I eat?"

You watch his gaze lay somewhere behind you. You turn around to see the cabinet that you know is piled high with a wide variety of sugary cereals. You smile lightly and shake your head.

"Yes. Don't go buck wild."

Your son shoots a smirk in your direction and walks past you to get something to eat. You sit down at the dining room table and let out a soft sigh. You feel horrible for lying to him. You aren't that much of a respectable man. Your thoughts are damning and repulsive.

You let your head fall into your hands and close your eyes.

You aren't given much time to sulk.

You find a yelp escape your throat when your son comes up behind you and pushes your arms off of the table.

"No elbows on the table, Dad!" he giggles as he sticks his tongue out at you.

You let out a whole-hearted belly laugh and spend the rest of the morning chasing him around the house.

It's moments like these that you don't feel as evil as you describe yourself to be.

It's moments like these when you can stand yourself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the thingie at the beginning  
> omfg that made me blush so hard  
> it got to the point where i had to take a water break just because i couldnt read over my own work
> 
> so embarrassing
> 
> i was trying to read it out loud to see what it would sound like  
> you know  
> if some parts were awkward and needed to be changed  
> if there were grammatical errors
> 
> the works
> 
> i couldnt get through a fuckin paragraph  
> i want to burn the paper i wrote on  
> jeez this is horrid
> 
> oh and dave and bro  
> babies no  
> dont do that  
> no fighting  
> girls  
> youre both pretty  
> on and btw 2 chapters in one day for you  
> have fun reading  
> i hope you like the drama  
> and me being a little girl
> 
> :DDDDDDDD
> 
> -Viewing


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for being gone for forever   
> heres another chapter
> 
> brb gonna leave for months again  
> -viewingtm

You sit up straight on your bed and look around the room. You toss the home phone down on your bed and stand up with your back hunched. You were really not in the mood for this kind of bullshit. You just wanted to sleep this whole situation off in some random lady's house and forget it ever happened. Now you can't. Bro just had to fucking call and be all worried and bitchy, didn't he?

Motherfucker.

You grab Cal off of the chair you tossed him into and throw the dumb puppet across the room. 

You don't actually know why you just did that.

This thing isn't his fault. 

You pick Cal back up and set him down on your bed with an apologetic tap to the noggin. This whole thing is still a large crock of shit regardless whose fault it is. You toss on a pair of jeans and your favorite record tee, grab the telephone, and walk out of your room to try to find Caroline.

* * *

You found yourself immediately backtracking into your bedroom when you found the hallway to be pitch black.

Fuck that noise. Caroline can come get the phone if she needs it.

You sit back down on your mattress, bored and prepared to stay that way out of spite.

Spite for what? Your brother?

You would guess so. He's the one that woke you up from your beauty sleep. Fuck this dude. Fuck him so hard.

You swiftly come to the conclusion that he doesn't even deserve your hate right now and pick up his phone to open up pesterchum.

Wait, John's online? Isn't it like... 2 am or some shit for him? You open up a chat window and get to messaging him.

 

**TG: sup egderp**

**TG: what are you doing up**

**TG: thought your bedtime was like 4 pm or some shit**

**_EB: it is not!_ **

**_EB: i totally have a decent bedtime!_ **

**_EB: it's like 10:00!_ **

****

**TG: wow what a square**

_**EB: whatever dude!** _

__

**TG: as i asked before though**

**TG: why are you up**

_**EB: well, at first it was because i could not sleep,** _

_**EB: but then it was because rose told me about you and your bro!** _

_**EB: i am sooo sorry dave.** _

__

**TG: dont take it too seriously dude**

**TG: schill**

_**EB: i guess so...** _

_**EB: so, are you feeling okay?** _

__

**TG: thats a long ass story bro**

**TG: sit down with some popcorn and get comfy folks**

**TG: were gonna be here a while**

Before you made him sit down for hours and watch your text pop up and sit idle as you talk aimlessly, you get his phone number and begin to text him.

You then proceed to ramble off to John about your batshit day, being sent away with Caroline, and messaged by some creep.

He freaks out at that and asks you to show him.

You only have it on the phone as a text, so you screen-cap it and send it to him.

John's reaction if anything is surprising to you. He started doing that weird stilted over-analytical typing that he only does when he's really nervous about a situation. You ask him what his damage is and he asks you some things.

* * *

_**do you know if it's some guy or girl in the area? or is it just like... some stranger?** _

__

**its most likely going to always be a fucking stranger john**

**come on dude**

**anyway fuck how am i supposed to know**

**for all i know bro could just be fucking around with me**

_**i don't think your bro would do that dave.** _

_**it would be a really sick joke, dude. i don't even know your bro and i do not think he would go that far into being an ass, if that is okay to say.** _

__

**yeah dude whatever**

_**well, do you think you know their gender?** _

__

**im p sure it has a penis idk man**

_**you did not have to go all naming parts dude! 'its a guy egbutts' would have been just fine!** _

__

**dont take it too personal dude**

**i just love watching you squirm**

**_you cannot even see me dave!_ **

****

**dude who said**

**i could be watching you right now bro**

**dont tempt me**

**i could hack your computer like a bitch**

_**dude, i don't even have a webcam or whatever!** _

_**i only use my dad's!** _

_**now stop making me paranoid.** _

__

**alright**

**hmm**

**speaking of daddy egderp**

**hows your old man john**

**_he's good i guess..._ **

**_i don't think he's okay tonight though..._ **

**_i think i heard him crying._ **

****

**hey maybe he was jackin off**

**_ewww dave no! i don't wanna think about my dad masturbating!_ **

****

**schlick schlick schlick moan**

**_no!_ **

**_fucking gross dude!_ **

****

**im with you on that**

**im gagging actually**

**schlick schlick schlick moan choke gag schlick**

**_why do you do this oh my fucking goodness ew!_ **

****

**hahaha**

**youre hilarious dude**

_**:B** _

_**well...i think i should ask my dad to look out for anyone suspicious in the area. dunananana inspector dadget. dunananana nana!!** _

__

**dude one**

**what the fuck could your dad do**

**and two**

**youre in a different fucking timezone**

**you cant do shit**

**_what i didn't tell you, is that my dad is FREAKING AWESOME SO SHUT UP. and also, that we're in texas!!!!!_ **

****

**what**

**really**

**_yeah!_ **

**_i thought it would be sooo cool seeing my best bro for the summer, so my dad said we could chill in his old house for a while!_ **

****

**dude**

**thats actually**

**pretty damn great**

**i dunno if ill be able it come over though**

**my situation and all**

**_pft, dude i'll ask my dad to help. he can charm his way into anything!_ **

****

**or anyone**

**_you made it dirty again._ **

**_stooooooppppppppp._ **

**_i'm pouting._ **

**_i hope you can feel this dave!_ **

****

**yup**

**mfucking terrified**

**ill let him work his ~~dick magic~~**

**i mean dad magic**

**_i'm gonna ignore that one..._ **

**_i'll ask him tomorrow at dinner to work something out with your bro and..._ **

**_caroline?_ **

****

**yeah**

**_i'll ask you for more information tomorrow_ **

**_i'm just really glad you're okay dude!_ **

****

**hey egbert**

**_yeah, dave?_ **

****

**thanks**

_**it's no problem!** _

_**now get some sleep! it's almost 4 am!** _

__

**alright**

**ill get back to you tomorrow**

_**okay, dave! goodnight!** _

__

**night john**

You put down the cell phone and find yourself holding back a yawn. You smile lightly to yourself as you ready for bed again. You undo your jeans, toss the home phone onto the floor, and grab Cal to roll over and fall asleep.

 

You might get to meet John finally. Wow, 3 years pass with you knowing him, and now that you're some sort of charity case, you'll finally know who he is and what he looks like to a T.

 

You can't say you aren't anxious.

You can't say you care.

* * *

You wake up tired and feeling empty. Drinking never, ever helps your situation and that has become even more apparent at this day and time. You feel like crap. Maybe you do need a little time away from Dave. You don't seem very capable handling your own emotions, let alone a teenage boy's.

 

You really hope he'll be alright for as long as possible. You won't be able to get to him on time if anything shitty is destined to happen. You already know that from experience. You slowly roll out of bed and look around your room. That's more of a mess than usual.

 

You grab all of your "equipment" off of the floor and stick them back in the box and under your bed. You take the sheets up off of your bed and begin to carry them to the washing machine. You decide within seconds that you'll do laundry after you've showered. Your hand is still sticky anyway, and you feel and look like shit. You walk towards the bathroom and drop articles of clothing along the way. You walk into the bathroom and lock the door behind you, mindful of your own presence even though you know you are the only one here. 

 

You find yourself, 26 years old with the same habits from 23 years prior. You turn on the water to what most would call, "searing hot", and wait for the water to warm up. You stare yourself down in the mirror and your attention is swiftly drawn to beneath the belt. Did you...wake up with that? You couldn't remember if that pain was always there, or if it had appeared once you could see your dick.

 

This little sack of meat is so hard that it burns. It's so hot that it's cold all over. You poke your head and wince. This is bad. You step into ther shower and have to hold back a scream. Maybe you should just jerk it. Your mind instantly searches for fapping material and comes up with Dave in compromising positions, his head covered in semen and mouth open in what looked like severe pain. Your dick twitches with excitement and you vomit slightly into your mouth.

This is so fucking ironic.

 

You are one of the most fruity people you know, and are the most proficient at giving head out of all of your past lovers, yet have the gag reflex of a small child brushing the back of their tongue with a toothbrush at the moment.

You swallow the bile and chuckle softly to yourself. You will just have to hope that the inflation goes down before you have to touch it again.

 

You wash your face and hair and let the soap from that semi-wash your body. Your hard-on is still raging and you don't want to encourage anymore thoughts about Dave while you're tuggin' it. You turn off the water and leave the bathroom to air-dry, still feeling dirty. You grab your hair dryer and proceed to get your lucious locks fluffed and stuck up as usual. 

You walk over to Dave's room to get his ass up and make him eat, but then remember that he's gone and that you just can't do that right now. You resort to sulking around your apartment to wait for about ten o'clock when you're sure he'll be up.

* * *

Your son approaches you gidly after he has made sure to change his freshly milk and sugar-stained clothes. You look down at him expectedly. He seems to be waiting for you to say something. You were in the middle of working on some dirty dishes and found him clung to your arm and bouncing lightly on his toes.

 

"Yes, John?" you say. His smile gets more mischievous as the second goes by and you start to get worried. Is he pulling a prank of you?

 

"Daddy?" he tries. He wants something from you.

 

"Yes, John?" you answer him. His grip on your arm grows firmer.

 

"Daddy, can I ask you something?"

 

"Of course you may, John." He scoffs at the correction in grammar but continues looking as giddy as ever. His buck teeth stick out more awkwardly that usual as he worries his lower lip and whispers like he was planning on telling you a secret.

 

You barely catch the sheepish, "Can Dave come over?"

 

You start to laugh and catch yourself. You smirk slowly and look at him as if you are confused. 

"Who is Dave?"

 

He drops flat onto his feet and lets go of your arm. 

 

"Oh my goodness! I cannot believe you said that! Dave's my friend, the one we're coming here to see!"

 

Your smirk falters a bit, but you can see he doesn't catch it. Your son picks up subtlety like you could pick things up without opposable thumbs or fingers.

Almost one hundred percent not at all.

You know what Dave he's talking about and you couldn't possibly see that child after what you'd thought about him. 

You also couldn't possibly see your son that devastated. You flew all the way to Texas for him and his little friend, so of course he can see him.

 

"Just have me talk to a parent or guardian and the deal is done, Johnathan."

 

His smile doesn't miss a beat. His crooked teeth become more prominent as his eyes light up. 

 

"Really, Dad?"

 

"Yes, really."

 

"Oh-Em-Gee! Thank you so much! Love you, Dad!"

 

He hops up on the tips of his toes, kisses your cheek, and is off in the direction of his room.

You get back to your dishes and grin.

You don't want to face your fears at all, but you guess you can put your feelings aside a bit for your son and his.

 

Parenting _is_ all about sacrifice. 


	5. Chapter 5

You get up from a light slumber and feel really disoriented. You find that your left hand is numb and there are lines all over your cheeks. You guess your light slumber wasn't as light as you thought. It's about who-gives-a-flying-fuck-o'clock in the what-the-fuck-ever time during the day, and you want to go back to sleep. You aren't tired anymore and get frustrated when your eyes won't close the way you want them to. You settle to sighing and letting the day in properly. You finally grab Bro's phone and see that you have a couple messages from him and John.

 

_Hey kid, just wanted to see how you were doing. It's pretty late in the afternoon, but you can just message me back whenever._

 

You smirk a bit when you read the message. You can tell he's worried about you, even though there isn't much to worry about. Aside from being practically ripped from the only form of life you've known, and having to live with a lady who's probably batshit crazy and has much more money than she needs, you're perfectly fine.

Let's be honest. You're fucking weak without your bro. He's your rock. He's your fucking family, and you have to sit here missing him and hating life because someone decides that's what should happen. Aw fuck that, you have to talk to him. You ended last night on terms that weren't too sweet, and even though you're the youngest, you'd like to make up with him. He is, after all, the only thing you have in this world.

 You pick up the phone again and begin searching its contacts for Bro's phone number. You're quickly reminded of John and his messages. Oh well, you guess your little heart to heart with bro'll have to wait.

 

_Dave! Dad said yes! I guess I'll see you soon then! :B_

 

You smirk at the message from John and nod at the fact that yes, you do indeed, get all of the bitches. Even the middle-aged bitches that have a family. Speaking of family, you feel you should get back to your own. You scroll through the contacts on the phone and set up a text to Bro.

Your hands are shaking for whatever reason and you can't think of anything you'd like to say to him. You miss your Bro, so why can't you say anything to him? Why can't you reassure him? You aren't upset with him, just the situation. You're frustrated that you can't live with the only person you've known for 13 years. You have no control over what is going on in your immediate life, so of course you have to take it out on someone. The only someone that you want to be with right now.

You sigh heavily once more and begin writing out a message to your Bro. After several started questions and sappy poems, you finally decide that,

 

_im alright hbu_

 

would suffice. You wait about five minutes before the phone begins to sound and you find you have another text from your brother.

 

_Not too good, kid. I'm sorry we argued last night. I should have been more mature with the situation. I hope you aren't mad at me._

 

He is so... parental. You want to hug him and tell him that everything will be just fine, but you can't do that because you are a Strider and are nowhere near him right now. You bet he's a wreck right now, and has been ever since you left. You bet he's blaming himself for everything that has happened thus far, because you know him. You know that he'll take everything too damned personally, and not just see the situation as what it is; a problem that he and you need to fix together. It isn't just his responsibility to raise you on his own. He's still your older brother, and is growing up with you. At 26 years old, he is doing a pretty impressive job of raising a child. He's still practically five years old just like you are, and you have to take care of him too. You try your best to be stoically reassuring with your reply.

 

_im not mad or anything_

_i was just tired_

_its not your fault bro_

_chill out_

 

You put Bro's phone down on the bed and get up to start stretching. You pull on the pants at the side of your bed and walk to the bathroom. You begin to brush your teeth and mess with your hair when you hear another alert sound from his phone. You throw the toothbrush deep into the side of your left cheek and toss yourself onto the bed to grab the device. Your nose starts running before you can stop it and you have to drop the phone to catch the stream before it reaches your half-clean teeth.

You pad back over to the bathroom sink and finish brushing your teeth dejectedly. You sniffle a bit as you spit out the toothpaste suds and go back into the main room to sit down on your bed.

You find yourself curling into the fetal position and feel a single, poetic-ass tear drop down the side of your face before you pass back out.

 

_They said I can't have you back. The time it will take for the courts to actually take on our case has been elongated, and worst of all, I can't come and see you. I'm sorry, little man._

 

 

* * *

 

 You'd gotten word of the new information right before Dave had texted you back. You were called and briefed on the situation, and then the phone call was over and your emotions ran wild.

You can't have him?

It had been exactly one fucking day and they'd just up and decided you can't have him? He's your brother for Christ's sake and you've done absolutely  _nothing_ to influence them to want to keep him further away from you for a longer period of time.

You'd call yourself upset, or say that you were writhing with anger on the inside, but you weren't. 

You aren't.

You feel empty at the thought of losing your younger sibling; the one person in this world you'd vowed to protect. Your head is in your hands at this point. You're rubbing your forehead and tapping your foot against the thin carpet that lay against your bedroom floor.

Everything else that's happened to you seems trivial at this point. All of the debts, all of the unpaid bills, all of the nights where you stayed up well into the morning trying to fix your financial situation. 

Right now, the only thing you want is your little brother back.

You find your knees up at your throat and darkness encases your sight once again.

* * *

_[Dave._

_Dave._

_Dave, you motherfucker, wake up.]_

_You blink a few times to clear the blurriness from your vision and push your chest away from the mattress beneath you._

_[Bro?_

_What the hell are you doing here?]_

_You were still in Caroline's house, still in Caroline's guest bedroom, and still in your night clothes._

_Why was he here?_

_He wouldn't answer you. It didn't seem like he could see you. It didn't seem like he could hear you._

_But he was touching your shoulder and shaking it._

_He wouldn't look into your eyes, but he could sense your presence._

_You grabbed his larger arm right at the crook of his elbow and began to squeeze it._

_He started a bit, and then relaxed when he'd figured out what was happening._

_You tried to pull him in for a hug, but he resisted._

_No. Not resisted... He...was pulled back._

_And pulled back._

_Until he wasn't there._

_Your arm reached toward the empty air his figure once existed in. You pulled back nothing in your hand, and began to weep._

* * *

 

You woke up startled and began breathing heavily. You looked around, remembered where you were, and sighed. Nothing had changed. Bro hadn't been here. It was simply a dream.

You pushed your head deeper into the mattress beneath you and forced your face into a thick pillow. 

You started to scream. 

Your voice became hoarse and you lost air faster than you received it, but you kept yelling.

You made sound until you couldn't and grabbed the pillow above your head. You squeezed the cotton around your fingers and flailed your limbs wildly.

You were a child having a temper tantrum again. 

You didn't really give a shit.

You were pissed. 

No. Not pissed...Dying.

You felt like you were dying.

You knew it was not that big of a deal.

You'd just be separated for a while, and then you'd find him again and you'd be fine. You'd speak to him, you'd text him, and everything would be fine.

Yet somehow...It isn't.

And you don't feel as if it will be. 

It doesn't feel like you're losing your brother, or even your mother, or your father.

It feels like something bigger than that. 

It feels like a piece of you has been severed and is never coming back to you.

It feels like your heart is gone.

Like your love is gone.

Like your lover is gone.

But that's not realistic.

That's weird, right?

You're his fucking brother, Dave.  Get the fuck over yourself, you overly-dramatic, 13 year old brat.

You're broken out of your stupor by another alert from Bro's phone and you see another message that makes your head feel like your butt and your butt feel nonexistent.

 

 

**_Good afternoon, Dave. I am allowed to call you Dave, aren't I? Did you miss me? Do you miss me? Do you even know who I am? Do you wish to? You are 13, aren't you? Little jailbait, you with your perfect everything. Won't you speak to me?_ **

 

It wasn't labeled like it was previously, and against the smarter part of your brain, you send a reply.

 

_who and what the fuck are you and why are you texting me_

_quit that shit before i call the fucking cops you damn_ _pedophile_

 

It takes not even 2 minutes for a reply to appear.

 

_**That hurt. That really hurt. I'm definitely not a pedophile, at least not in my eyes. I just admire beautiful things. You seem to have some sort of attitude problem. The first person to be genuinely nice to you for no reason other than your damn face, something your own brother doesn't comment on I'm assuming, and all you do is treat them like some sort of dog. I will say I'm offended.** _

 

You scoff before your fingers begin moving. 

 

_i dont have to treat any asshole like a fucking princess when he starts giving me unwarranted pervy texts_

_and what the fuck do you know about bro_

_youre an asshole whos done his fucking research im guessing_

_this doesnt bother me_

_more evidence for the fucking police department_

 

_**You are such a ungrateful child. It's a shame that a creature like you goes to waste so easily. Don't worry, you'll receive what you must. Unfortunately, I must go. I have matters to attend to.** _

 

You don't even get to see that last message because you're too busy vomiting bile onto to hardwood floors of your bedroom.

You can't tell if you're more disgusted by the fact that you were just texted by some fucking creep that has apparently had tabs on both you and Bro for a while now, or the fact that you now have to clean up your own puke.

You wipe your mouth off on the back of your hand and leave your room to search for a bucket and mop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hi  
> this chapter is a lil short but ill fix that with the next one
> 
> in 5 years apparently
> 
> -viewingtm


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